Chapter Ten

Alexander entered the library just in time to see Hamish vomit into a large antique urn. A pair of them had stood by the fireplace for years, although he suspected that from now on, there would only be one.

The urn was being held by a panicked-looking footman, a man that Alexander vaguely recognized as Eric.

Relief swept through the young man’s face when he saw Alexander.

“Oh, your lordship, there you are! The butler and James went off to fetch his Grace. The gentleman is ill, I think. We should call a doctor, shouldn’t we?”

Alexander put his hands on his hips, glaring down at his friend.

“He doesn’t need a doctor. He needs a bucket of cold water over his head and a good slapping, I think.”

Groaning, Hamish rolled onto a sofa, dropping his forearm over his eyes.

“It’s so devilishly bright in here, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly,” Alexander muttered, eyeing the feeble candles. “There isn’t even a fire. How did you get into this state?”

By way of answer, Hamish held up a bottle of whiskey.

At least, it had been a bottle of whiskey. There was less than a third left, and Alexander had the feeling it had been full before Hamish got his hands on it. Not to mention whatever the wretched man had drunk before he started on the whiskey. Wine, punch, and champagne, no doubt.

“You can leave us, Eric,” Alexander addressed the footman. “I shall take care of this. Don’t let any guests come in here, of course.”

The man bowed. “As you say, your lordship.”

“Leave the urn,” Hamish spoke up, face still hidden under his arm. “My stomach feels a little strange still. Probably that cream-cheese pudding thing I ate.”

Alexander gave a bark of laughter. “The pudding? Oh, you fool, it’s nothing of the sort. You’ve drunk entirely too much. You’re no longer in your cups, you’re steeped in your flagons.”

“Nicely put. I do feel ill, though. Don’t be unkind to me.”

“You deserve for me to be unkind to you.”

Alexander sat down at the foot of the sofa with a sigh. His head was pounding, he felt sick himself, and his ears were ringing with the noise and laughter in the other rooms. The noise was muffled here, but he could still hear it. And if he went back into the ballroom, Diana would be there. Waiting for him.

“Do you remember Diana?” Alexander asked at last, after the silence had trailed on for too long. “From before she was married, that is?”

It was relative silence, of course. There was chatter, laughter, and music from the distant ballroom, of course, as well as Hamish’s self-indulgent groans and mutterings, and even the loud, genteel ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.

“Of course I do,” Hamish answered. “She chased you with a great determination, I recall. I was quite sure she’d catch you. But then she caught a gentleman of greater wealth. You can’t possibly be thinking of her.”

“I’m not, I just…”

Hamish removed his arm, fixing his friend with a bleary but unblinking stare.

“She jilted you carelessly,” he said firmly. “You had an understanding. She knew how you loved her. She made you believe she loved you, too. And then she threw you over for a greater prize. I remember the pain you went through, Alexander. Don’t treat me like a fool. If you believe I’ll sit here and watch you endure that again, you’re mad. I’m your friend. I cannot allow it.”

Alexander bit his lower lip hard, staring down at his hands, entwined in his lap.

“But I want to be wed.”

“Then marry,” Hamish responded. “You’re handsome, charming, and rich. You have a reputation as a bit of a rake, but not a desperate flirt. Ladies like a reformed rake, after all. You don’t need to marry this Season, though, do you?”

“I… I don’t have any money, Hamish.”

The words were out before Alexander could stop them. Hamish paused, propping himself up slowly on his elbows, eyebrows knitted.

“You’ve run through it all already? That’s not possible. I don’t know the details of your finances, naturally, but the old Duke…”

“There’s a clause in his will,” Alexander began, gabbling his way through the words in case he lost his nerve towards the end. “I can’t get my money until I’m wed. If I don’t marry by the end of the year, I lose it forever.”

There. It was said. Alexander let out a long, slow breath of relief. Sometimes, it felt as if the secret was bottled up inside him, stuck in a corked glass bottle, the pressure building up and up with nowhere to go.

His siblings never wanted to talk about it. Now that Katherine and Henry were married, they had nothing to worry about. They were happy. They were safe.

Alexander, though, might find himself the greatest disappointment among the Willenshire siblings.

Again.

He drew in a long, shaky breath, closing his eyes.

“Nobody can know,” he said, since Hamish had not spoken. “It’s a great secret. If it gets out that we’re… that I’m penniless, I’ll never marry. Or I’ll be stuck with a woman who only wants my money.”

He heard rustling, and then Hamish slung an awkward arm around Alexander’s shoulder.

“Oh, Alex. I knew something was wrong. I… I could tell something was off , but I thought you were just miserable with William stretching his muscles as the new Duke. I never thought… I can’t say I’m surprised. Your father was a vile man.”

“I hated him,” Alexander burst out. “I hated the way he treated Mother. He didn’t much care about me or Henry – we were the spares, you see – but Katherine, as the only girl, and William, as the eldest… I think he felt that he had to mould them. Shape them into what he wanted. Katherine always defied him, but Will… I sometimes worry he succeeded with William. And now we have this hanging over our heads.”

“The clause applies to you all, then?” Hamish said, sounding shocked this time. “I’m surprised he was willing to risk losing the entire fortune.”

Alexander gave a harsh laugh. “That’s our father for you. He’d rather set fire to his entire fortune than see us escape his control. I suppose he thought forcing us into matrimony would be a way to exercise control from beyond the grave.”

There was a longer pause. In the distance, Alexander heard the music end with a flourish, followed by cheers and applause. There was a minute or two of silence, then the music began again. Another dance was beginning. They would dance until dawn, probably. It was barely one in the morning.

“He hasn’t succeeded, though, has he?” Hamish said at last. “Katherine married a man she loves, and Henry is so happy. They’ve found happiness, and freedom. Do you think… I know this is an awful thing to suggest – but do you think your father was trying to make amends? Trying to make sure you were all happy and safe once he was gone?”

There was another pause, then Alexander shifted to face his friend.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think that. And if you knew my father better, you wouldn’t think it, either.”

Hamish dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just…”

His voice trailed off, and his skin took on a greenish hue again. Alexander leaned back.

“Oh. Oh, dear. Are you going to…”

By way of answer, Hamish threw himself forward over the side of the couch, leaning over the urn, and threw up violently.

At that inauspicious moment, the door flew open, and William stalked in, followed by the first footman and the butler.

There was a taut moment of silence, during which Hamish spat into the urn, and sheepishly wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“So,” William said, voice clipped and angry, “this is how you are passing your time at our mother’s party, Alexander. Vomiting into an expensive urn.”

Hamish spat again. “Your Grace, Alexander wasn’t vomiting. It was only I.”

William ignored him, turning to the butler.

“You can leave us. Make sure this gentleman’s room is prepared and be ready to take him quickly up there before any of the guests can notice him. Leave somebody on guard, I don’t want anybody walking in.”

The butler bowed, murmured something in the affirmative, and hurried out, flanked by the footman.

William made sure the door was securely closed, then turned to face the other two. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, gaze travelling over the room. He missed nothing, focusing on the mostly-empty bottle of whiskey.

“Did you take that from the cabinet, Lord Grey?” he asked, slowly and pointedly.

Hamish gulped. “I… I did. I do apologise, your Grace. I only meant to sample it, but… but things got out of hand. It’s a delicious whiskey.”

“It was our father’s,” William snarled. “He kept it for close two decades, and then you come along and drink it.”

The blood drained from Hamish’s face. “Oh, oh. I am so truly sorry. I cannot apologise enough…”

“No, you can’t.”

“I’ll pay twice the value of the whiskey,” Hamish began, but Alexander interrupted him.

“Why do you say that as if it has any significance, William?” he demanded, getting to his feet. “I am not excusing Hamish’s behaviour, but I have made a fool of myself more than once with drink. So has Henry, in fact, and Katherine.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You miss my point. Why should we care if Hamish drinks Father’s whiskey? We hated the man, or have you forgotten?”

William flinched. “Don’t speak so thoughtlessly. He was still our father. Where are your filial feelings?”

Alexander gave a bark of laughter. “ Filial feelings ? Oh, what a laugh. Don’t you remember the time Katherine and I took a sip of brandy from a leftover glass at the table? It was silly childishness, no more than a single sip each. And father was so angry he poured us both a large cup of whiskey each, and forced us to drink until we were sick?”

Hamish sucked in a breath. William’s expression tightened.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“I was ill for days,” Alexander snapped. “I was a child. Barely ten years old, if I recall. Father said it would teach us a lesson, and I suppose it did. He was a cruel man, and if Hamish wants to drink his whiskey, why should we care?”

There was a tap on the door before William could respond.

“Your Grace? My lord?” came a footman’s quavering voice. “Lord Grey’s room is ready. Should we help him to his bed?”

“Yes, yes, for heaven’s sake, get the man out of here,” William snarled, glowering at Hamish.

Hamish hung his head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and it wasn’t clear whether he was talking to Alexander or William.

The door creaked open, and the two footmen scurried in. Taking an arm each, they helped Hamish to his feet, and walked him to the door.

“I’ll mix you up a special drink in the morning,” Eric whispered. “Cook swears by it. You’ll feel like death, and the drink will taste vile, but it’ll work.”

“Thank you,” Hamish mumbled, and then the door closed behind them and the two brothers were alone.

Silence grew heavy between them.

“I don’t have many friends,” Alexander said at last. “But I have Hamish. He’s been with me through thick and thin. I trust him. I care for him. He’s not perfect, and I intend to have strong words with him about his behaviour tonight, but really, what damage has been done?”

William pressed his lips together in a thin line. He moved over to the fireplace, staring into the empty grate.

“I think it’s best that you go to bed, too,” he said, after a full minute of silence.

Alexander flinched. “But the ball’s not over.”

“Are you telling me that you are enjoying yourself?”

He flushed. “Not particularly, but Mother will be hurt if I leave now. I know she will.”

“It’s for the best.”

“The best for who, William? You or me?”

Alexander stamped over to the fireplace, trying to get his brother to look him in the eye. William half turned so that he could avoid Alexander’s face.

“I am the Duke of Dunleigh,” William whispered. “I am an important man. You have no idea of the responsibilities weighing down on me.”

Alexander couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes.

“You remind us often enough.”

William rounded on him. “How dare you. I am heartily sick of you, Alexander. You’re like a weight around my neck, Mother and you both. I spend all my time making sure you don’t embarrass the family and me. I am running as fast as I can, using all my strength, and I never even get any further forward. I’m tired of it, do you hear? It’s high time for you to grow up, Alexander Willenshire.”

Alexander flinched backwards at the venom in his brother’s voice. Silence landed between them again. In the distance, he heard cheers and clapping as another dance ended.

William blinked, as if taken aback by his own anger. He stepped backwards a full pace, putting more distance between them, and folded his arms behind his back.

Just like Father used to, Alexander thought, before he could end the thought. It had always been the most cruel insult any of them could fathom – you’re just like Father .

Sometimes they wouldn’t even use his name, as if he might be conjured through his name.

You’re just like him .

As if he could read Alexander’s thoughts, William swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut.

“That was… that was uncalled for,” he said at last. “I’m sorry, Alex, truly I am. I’m… I’m tired, and my head hurts, and your friend…” he trailed off, gesturing at the rumpled couch and the accusing urn standing before it, which would have to be dealt with before somebody knocked it over. “It was just a lot, you know? I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”

Alexander shook his head. “Nothing to forgive. One can’t resent honesty.”

William started to look panicky. “It wasn’t honesty , I didn’t mean…”

“Yes, you did,” Alexander interrupted. He turned abruptly, moving towards the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

He paused, fingers curled over the brass doorknob. It was cool to the touch, and Alexander had a wild vision of himself kneeling in front of the door, resting his forehead against the smooth brass. He cleared his throat, and the vision was gone.

“I’m going to bed, William. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Things will be easier with me out of the way. Tidier. You like things tidy.”

He heard William swallow hard. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, it was,” Alexander responded, opening the door and stepping out into the cool hallway.

***

William did not see Miss Bainbridge when he returned to the ball. That was probably for the best. Perhaps she had chosen to disappear, or perhaps she had simply gotten lost in the crowd. It was hard to tell.

He was wondering whether it would be too rude to return to his quiet spot at the mantelpiece when Mary appeared from the crowd. Her cheeks were flushed with laughter and probably too much wine, and she laid a cold hand on his forearm.

“There you are, dearest! Where is Alex, do you know? I have a young lady I want him to meet.”

William cleared his throat. “I believe Alexander had gone up to bed, Mother.”

Mar’ blinked. “What, already? He can’t have.”

“I believe he has.”

“But I want him here. It won’t be the same without my little Alex.”

Anger coiled in William’s chest.

I am here, he wanted to shout. Your oldest child. Your firstborn son. Katherine and Henry are here. Aren’t we enough?

He didn’t dare ask, mostly because he knew what the answer would be.

No.

“He’s tired, Mother.”

“No, no,” Mary shook her head a little too energetically. “That can’t be the case. Go and fetch him, quickly, before he starts to get ready for bed.”

William drew in a breath. “No, Mother.”

“Then I shall fetch him. I want my Alex here.”

“He’s drunk, Mother.”

That came out much harder and more cruel than William had intended, and it was of course too late to take the words back.

And they weren’t even true.

Mary recoiled, eyes huge. “ Drunk ?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” There was really nothing for it but to double down. “I’m sorry, Mother. Best to let him alone for tonight.”

Mary cleared her throat, turning away. “Oh. Right. I see. Well, thank you for telling me. I should have preferred it if you had stopped him drinking quite so much, then we could have enjoyed his company all night, but I suppose it’s too late now.”

“Mother…” William began, but she did not hear. Already, Mary was shuffling back into the crowd. The smile had gone from her face.

William was left alone, feeling like the worst son – and brother – in the whole wide world.